A Faithless Rhapsody
by Jane McCartney
Summary: Buffy's silent cries to feel are getting her deeper and deeper into a powerful web of lies and isolation, from which she may not be able to get out later. Who will catch her when she falls? Deals with Buffy-Xander friendship. [Complete]
1. Into Your Heart, Under Your Skin

Title: A Faithless Rhapsody  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like a genius? Perhaps (Cough! Cough! Ahem) but not a god, eh? Of course Buffy's characters aren't mine, but Joss'. Though I'm still inclined to believe that the man made a diabolical pact and sold his soul to the Devil, to get them first. Damn!  
  
Classification: A Buffyverse three chapter fanfic, from Buffy's POV.  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Feedback: If I could, I'd marry all that give it. As Spike would say, 'nuff said.  
  
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br  
  
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.  
  
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone who made this what it is today. And, of course, a big special thanks to Theo - with the English grammar and all the required adaptations. Once again, he's saving my butt in this project.  
  
Author's Note: It's a different kind of fiction, with a different proposition, I guess. Deals with Buffy-Xander friendship and, as a good old Beatlemaniac, there'll be three of their songs following each of the three chapters. Buffy's POV. Well, be nice with me. Uh, pleeease? Remember, even when Theo was a big help helping me with the English, he couldn't change the whole fic, and English isn't my native language.  
  
Summary: Buffy's silent cries to feel are getting her deeper and deeper into a powerful web of lies and isolation, from which she may not be able to get out later. Who will catch her when she falls?  
  
***  
  
Hey Jude, don't make it bad  
  
Take a sad song and make it better  
  
Remember to let her into your heart  
  
Then you can start to make it better  
  
Hey Jude, don't be afraid  
  
You were made to go out and get her  
  
The minute you let her under your skin  
  
Then you begin to make it better  
  
~~~~~~  
  
They've been talking a lot during these past few weeks. My friends, that is. Talking about me.  
  
Buffy's not OK, Buffy's sad, Buffy needs to talk.  
  
Buffy's this, Buffy's that.  
  
BuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffy...  
  
I haven't really noticed how funny my name sounds, till now.  
  
And sometimes, it makes me wanna scream.  
  
Well, I'm Buffy and I'm OK. I'm not sad. I don't need to talk.  
  
First off, I'd have to be able to *feel* anything to deal with that little matter.  
  
I loved my friends with all my heart, really. Dawn and them are everything I've got in the world now, they're my family â€" they've always been that.  
  
They're my link with this world â€" they're that tiny, shy spark of hopeful dreams, which I dared to have once in a while. The one important thing that used to make me choose between the two attractive sides of the line and its tricky directions, mistakes and regrets â€" 'cause there's two ways, two roads for Buffy Anne Summers.  
  
Behind door number 1, this so-called life â€" come closer, little Slayer, and take a look at the unchangeable splendor of feeling the air plunging into your lungs, while watching the magnificent beauty of the sunrise softly burning your skin, embraced in the arms of the one you love so passionately.  
  
I loved Angel, and he was a vampire. He doesn't breathe, and isn't able to feel the dazzling majesty of a warm, comforting sunrise. He's dead.  
  
Is he lucky? Perhaps not, in his case. He isn't dead like in my way of having been dead, to be sure. He's undead, cold.  
  
Angel's cursed â€" he's living death.  
  
What his soul yearns for, his inner demon rejects with all its might.  
  
And what his dark nature desires, his soul needs to bleed to stop it.  
  
Buffy don't wanna be a dead soul. I don't want that.  
  
I want to feel the air plunging into my lungs while watching the magnificent beauty of the sunrise softly burning my skin, embraced in the arms of the one I love so passionately.  
  
But Buffy doesn't love anymore, does she?  
  
After all, doesn't love conquer a person who's actually capable of feeling something? So I'm just the wrong girl for that, I guess.  
  
'Cause I'm Buffy. I don't feel. And that's my newest spiel.  
  
Moreover, that's what'll probably be carved onto my new tombstone. Or my coffin â€" one that isn't located six feet underground, but somewhere worse. A cold, gilded tomb in which your coffin's your life, as you watch everything and everyone at the same time, and never be truly part of things.  
  
Sometimes I dream about that imminent upcoming day, with all the strength I have left. But other times I just know I'll be punished, that that's my impending destiny.  
  
Loneliness. Suffering. Despair. Coldness.  
  
A blank portrait. The blankest.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
And any time you feel the pain  
  
Hey Jude, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulder  
  
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool  
  
By making his world a little colder  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I'll end up being that scary, wrinkled old lady who lives inside the creepy mansion that not even the bravest children of the neighborhood dares to pass in front of; without friends, and love, and feelings.  
  
Alone, and living death. For a very long time, I'm sure. The longest.  
  
A living corpse, that's what I'll be.  
  
Then we have door number 2 and its hidden challenge â€" death and all its sweet, dark mysteries to be discovered in the ultimate, unpredictable road every human soul has to take.  
  
The provoking temptation of the unknown, the urge for the final, deserved rest; the storm, and the calmness, their playful and attractive twang in death's matching dance, a warm hall for the dazed contradictions and uncertainty offered from life.  
  
They could even have a freaking jingle to go with it, don't you think?  
  
'Cause, in the end, life's a show, and we all play our part... well, you know what I mean. It's all just a game.  
  
Will Buffy win? Will Buffy lose? Will Buffy be forever an outcast and mere observer?  
  
If I'm Buffy and I don't know the answer, well â€" we can call Houston now, 'cause we *really* have a problem here.  
  
Buffy doesn't know which way she should go. But doesn't Buffy need to know that? Isn't Buffy supposed to know the answer for everything?  
  
Isn't Buffy a superhero, after all?  
  
Well, but I'm Buffy and I'm lost. And I'm not wearing any blue costume with red underwear on the outside, no way; I don't care if I'll have a flying cape and-  
  
Uh, flying cape?  
  
Could I choose the cape's color? 'Cause I've been hearing that blue's definitely next season's in thing, and Mom used to keep a old piece of blue silk in her desk that'd be just perfect for a...  
  
No, wait. Mom's dead.  
  
And I'm not.  
  
And I don't wanna be a superhero anymore, either. I don't think my friends understand that.  
  
I know they've been judging me. Or feeling pity â€" and sometimes I hate it so much that it feels so hard just to breathe, and then I think I'm going to die suffocating.  
  
And then, in a sudden cruelty, the breath comes easily and the panting ceases. There was that brief, short instant, in which I'd felt relief â€" I'd thought this was all going to come to an end, that I'd finally die.  
  
I was wrong. I'm wrong, and not just in the surface-y physical way. And I'll be wrong. Over and over and over.  
  
Forever.  
  
And they feel sorry for me.  
  
Even knowing I'm someone who deserves it, I still totally and utterly hate it.  
  
Is Buffy sad? Why's Buffy sad? Please Buffy, don't be sad! Talk to us! We'll understand you, we'll understand how it feels to be abruptly taken away from the one place where you finally felt completely safe and whole, in your entire goddamn life! Buffy, don't cry!  
  
Oh no, Buffy don't cry anymore. Buffy, don't feel. People who don't feel usually don't have tears to be wept on her best friend's shoulders.  
  
BuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffyBuffy...  
  
I'm starting to get real sick of that name.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Hey Jude, don't let me down  
  
You have found her now go and get her  
  
Remember to let her into your heart  
  
Then you can start to make it better  
  
~~~~~~  
  
You know what I hate the most? My friends.  
  
No, no, don't misunderstand me. It's not like that.  
  
Yes, I love them. A helluva lot. Or at least I would, if I were capable of love now anyhow. But I know it'd be them I'd love first off, if I ever win back the capacity of being able to love.  
  
And I don't blame them, not really. I know I'd have done the same thing they did if Dawn, Xander, Willow, Giles, or any of them had had the slightest possibility of spending his or her eternity in the middle of pain and despair, in some demon hell dimension.  
  
And that's exactly what I hate the most about my friends â€" how I can't hate them. Even knowing I can't feel at all, I can't even despise them.  
  
And God knows I try. Yes; I, Buffy Anne Summers, the glorious heroine of the Hellmouth's helpless crowd, had desired one hopeless day that I could despise my own beloved, true friends.  
  
Actually, it had been more than just one day.  
  
Shame on you, Buffy.  
  
See, I wanted to feel â€" at any cost. It's not like this is something that I'm proud of, but I'm just being honest here. Nevertheless, I'd be a rookie in the art of feeling again, and I couldn't let myself go lusting after the highest emotions, right?  
  
So I just wanted to appeal to the lower choices; to be, I don't know, mad, angry, sad...  
  
Something. Anything. Anyone.  
  
But I'm Zombie Buffy now.  
  
I don't know what to do.  
  
I know I came back wrong. I just know.  
  
And Spike was there for me.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
So let it out and let it in  
  
Hey Jude, begin, you're waiting for someone to perform with  
  
And don't you know that it's just you  
  
Hey Jude, you'll do  
  
The movement you need is on your shoulder  
  
~~~~~~  
  
The truth is, he was the one thing that wasn't completely aimless in that crazy, painful and anguished journey for the priceless art of feeling that I've gotten myself into, ever since I'd been brought back from the silence and calmness.  
  
After all, Spike's a vampire, you know? He's just like me, dead in the not- being-dead sense.  
  
Or something like that, I'm not sure. I'm a little confused sometimes.  
  
And we'd talk, share, exchange... and we kissed.  
  
Buffy. And. Spike. Kissed.  
  
Saliva. Lips. Cold. Tongue. Kiss.  
  
It happened after the musical day's fiasco; it wasn't exactly as if anyone was entirely focused and thinking straight, after all. But I don't regret it at all, actually.  
  
I knew I had to do it, I knew I had to give myself that chance, that risk, that experience... and I didn't feel wrong â€" very much to my own big surprise, may I add.  
  
Through I kept not feeling anything yet.  
  
Life certainly has its odd paths to be taken and reins to be guided, during the unanticipated turn of the hourglass. But if someone had ever told me that I'd be kissing Spike a few years ago â€" boy, that'd have been a full day of laughing with Willow and Xander, while we watched TV and ate Twinkies.  
  
But things changed, though. We grew up. I died. And I don't laugh anymore.  
  
I kill. I slay. I breathe. I eat. I even crap.  
  
I'm a primal animal.  
  
I'm Zombie Buffy.  
  
And I'm dead inside.  
  
I even tried to fake amnesia, you know? If Willow's frustrated and dangerous attempt to make me forget about my days in Paradise didn't quite succeed... well, I'd decided then to give it a shot on my own.  
  
It was something really stupid, but I'm Buffy. I do that all the time.  
  
And I'm desperate.  
  
After all, everybody would've been happier then, wouldn't they? Well, I wouldn't, but I don't care â€" I don't feel and I don't get happy, anyway.  
  
So, I made up a really lame story about a four-armed demon with an ancient Greek weapon Giles had once told me about, during one of his unceasingly boring Watcher's kind of seminars; an attack which in my case had turned out to be pretty effective, in the end.  
  
The weapon had had the exclusive power to blank a certain portion of the person's previous month's memory, in order to destroy the enemy in his utterly confused state of mind at that moment â€" and it could only snuff out a certain feeling from its target.  
  
And I said, then, that my fear was gone. That it'd been that particular eradicated memory â€" my fear of feeling. Ironic, huh?  
  
It doesn't matter, it didn't seem to bother me at the time. And I said to my friends that I've felt again, and I wasn't scared anymore. I wanted to live.  
  
As previously said, a lame story. I think I've got a good imagination, you know? Did I ever tell you how I always used to invent horror stories to Dawn when we were kids, and she wouldn't be able to sleep without Mom by her side, sometimes for entire weeks?  
  
See, there was never such a weapon. And I was already regretting putting Giles' name into the middle of this â€" since once my former Watcher would've been told about the Slayer situation, he'd have told them all the truth.  
  
Because he'd never talked about such a weapon with me on account of, naturally, it didn't exist.  
  
But when Willow told him the latest and startling news in a very expensive call to England directly from the Hellmouth, all that the middle-aged Tweed Guy did was tell the red-haired Wicca that he didn't quite recall this weapon, much to his own shame. But he was truly cheerful for me, and that he'd catch the first plane back to Sunnydale as fast as he could.  
  
My friends believed it, basically 'cause they wanted to. They needed to. They still do.  
  
Their blindness is what keeps them going on, and sometimes I envy them so strongly that I think I'll literally explode.  
  
And I remember that, in the innocent past, I'd snap out a colossal 'ewww' at that statement.  
  
And I remember then that there is no innocence left anymore, and I crash.  
  
I go patrol and I kill a demon.  
  
And I keep carrying on. As always.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Hey Jude, don't make it bad  
  
Take a sad song and make it better  
  
Remember to let her under your skin  
  
Then you'll begin to make it better  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Great job, Buffy. They're all happy now; they're good, the good old you has come back for them.  
  
They'll not ask you anymore why you're sad, or why aren't you OK, or why do you keep insisting on refusing to talk to us? All you need to do now is keep up a big smile at all times, and wear your polished mask of a faker who's capable of feeling.  
  
Willow's wide, radiant smile is one of pure joy, and for the first time in my entire life, I can't stand looking at her straight in the face.  
  
All of them are smiling. I wanna hate them now; I also want to smile, as I can barely stand their goofy, joyful blindness. Their Buffy's back.  
  
But I'm still here. Wasn't I supposed to stay dead? Doesn't God want me? Was I a bad girl?  
  
Doesn't Buffy deserve Heaven too?  
  
Or did the chance for eternal bliss just have a use-by date, and my time was past?  
  
***  
  
Hey, all you guys! It's Jane, what's up? Uh, I was really insecure with that fic, hell, *I'm* really insecure with 'A Faithless Rhapsody' - so be kind and nice, please? And send your reviews, I've a love affair with them! 


	2. When The Sky Falls

Title: A Faithless Rhapsody  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like a genius? Perhaps (Cough! Cough! Ahem) but not a god, eh? Of course Buffy's characters aren't mine, but Joss'. Though I'm still inclined to believe that the man made a diabolical pact and sold his soul to the Devil, to get them first. Damn!  
  
Classification: A Buffyverse three chapter fanfic, from Buffy's POV.  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Feedback: If I could, I'd marry all that give it. As Spike would say, 'nuff said.  
  
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br  
  
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.  
  
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone who made this what it is today. And, of course, a big special thanks to Theo – with the English grammar and all the required adaptations. Once again, he's saving my butt in this project.  
  
Author's Note: It's a different kind of fiction, with a different proposition, I guess. Deals with Buffy-Xander friendship and, as a good old Beatlemaniac, there'll be three of their songs following each of the three chapters. Buffy's POV. Well, be nice with me. Uh, pleeease? Remember, even when Theo was a big help helping me with the English, he couldn't change the whole fic, and English isn't my native language.  
  
Summary: Buffy's silent cries to feel are getting her deeper and deeper into a powerful web of lies and isolation, from which she may not be able to get out later. Who will catch her when she falls?  
  
***  
  
What would you think if I sang out of tune  
  
Would you stand up and walk out on me  
  
Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song  
  
And I'll try not to sing out of key, oh  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I'm being eaten alive by the cascade of thoughts and emotions that my mind's being blitzed by, when my gaze travels throughout the room for an ephemeral, brief second.  
  
Smiles, laughs, general happiness. I think I'm gonna be sick.  
  
Willow, smiling. Check.  
  
Dawn, smiling. Check.  
  
Tara, smiling. Check.  
  
Giles, cheering. Check.  
  
Anya, receiving money for a customer and smiling. Oh well, check.  
  
And then I see him.  
  
He's not smiling. Everyone else is, but not him. That catches my attention.  
  
He's staring at me. Questioningly, confusedly gazing at me with an intensity I thought I could never see in someone – unless the $1,000,000 question of 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire' was on screen.  
  
I could even risk saying that he didn't buy my sweet, cute little fairy tale of how I feel now. And how I'm glad, happy and full of joy – that I can run singing through the meadows, and basically make everyone's day.  
  
Well, I'm a liar. A big one. And the worst part is that I think he knows it.  
  
And that's why he's here right now, staring at me with those deep, wide brown eyes.  
  
I think he's mad at me.  
  
Whatever. I don't care. Why should I? Damn him! I'm the one they brought back from the dead. He has someone, he's happy – at least, he should be.  
  
He's alive.  
  
They all are. I don't care if he's mad at me! I really don't. Really.  
  
Should I care? Hell, no! I couldn't give a damn about him being mad, 'cause I lied. I won't. I don't!  
  
C'mon Buffy, let it go. You're not gonna convince anyone anyway.  
  
Everyone else leaves, but I think he invented some lame excuse to stay for a while longer with me. Something about catching up on what was the what in Sunnydale, while I was gone – a role which nobody else seemed to desire, 'cause they'd probably found it too painful to even contemplate.  
  
And so, here we are. Just the two of us, walking aimlessly through the darkened streets of Sunnydale.  
  
Shit.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I get by with a little help from my friends  
  
I get high with a little help from my friends  
  
Going to try with a little help from my friends  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I make an attempt to put this big, wide smile onto my lips, and place my faker's mask on – the one to act out this aged, tricky game of happiness that I've become so used to playing with the people I loved.  
  
"So..." My voice's probably sounding as cheesy as some freaking character of Dawson's Creek, but I don't really care.  
  
After all, I've got a lie to hide and a mask to be worn.  
  
"So," he replies to me somehow innocently, his incredulous gaze becoming pretty obvious though.  
  
"Beautiful day, huh? A lot of sun," I say. Okay, I'm not exactly Meryl Streep, but that's not really the point. He's supposedly blind, isn't he?  
  
Hell yes, he needs to be. He has to be. He is. I know he is.  
  
And pink, fat pigs can actually sprout wings and fly too, of course.  
  
"I'm sure Captain Peroxide's overwhelming with the joy," Xander grins. Though I can see he's faking it, he's acting.  
  
Hey, that's my game, doesn't he know that? That's Buffy's game!  
  
Emotionlessness, hiding, continuous lies, masks...  
  
Damn thief!  
  
"Yeah, I bet he is," I reply, smiling openly.  
  
My face's practically frozen with that stupid grin. And I feel like Cher or any other of those women who spend truckloads of money to maintain a Barbie doll face, but end up looking kinda like Michael Jackson.  
  
"How's Anya?"  
  
Constantly changing the subject's always a pretty important rule, if you're trying to fool someone into playing this game.  
  
"Anya? Uh, Anya's great, wonderful actually. She's all in awe about the wedding, you know how women are about that kind of stuff..."  
  
"I can imagine," I say. "Did she choose her dress already?"  
  
"Nah, but she said that the bridesmaids' ones are already picked out. I'm supposed to see it tomorrow. Wanna come?"  
  
"Yeah, I'd love to!"  
  
Translation: I'd like to. I don't love anymore.  
  
"I'm sure they'll be beautiful," I utter next.  
  
"What?"  
  
"The bridesmaids' dresses. You know – Anya, former demon, short, blond hair and an 'Uncle Sam' poster on her bedroom's wall?"  
  
"Oh. Gotcha. Me too."  
  
Silence. A long one. I hate it – which is always the worst part, when you're hearing nothing but your own inner voice.  
  
What the hell's my problem? Xander's been my best friend along with Willow for so long, and I can't even be happy for him that he's getting married!  
  
I always thought I'd be there for him, like he was always for me. But I'm not a good person, and I'm learning this now. I loved him, but I can't feel. I know I can't.  
  
I want to, though. I know I do. And I wanna love him again. I need to.  
  
I've got to.  
  
C'mon Buffy, don't hear it. Don't hear the voice. Just talk. Fake it. Ask something. Lie. Anything. Just do it now. Just don't crash.  
  
"Why, Buffy?"  
  
Don't crash.  
  
"Why what?"  
  
Don't crash.  
  
"You know what I'm talking about."  
  
Don't crash.  
  
"Gee, sorry Xand, but I don't."  
  
Don't crash.  
  
"Buffy, c'mon. Don't do this to yourself."  
  
Why does his voice sounds so cold and dry?  
  
"Xander," I know I'm cracking a little, and I totally hate myself for it.  
  
I know that he didn't miss that desperate note in my voice, he's pretty good at catching things like that.  
  
Like with my first day at UC Sunnydale, my breaking up with Riley, and every other time I didn't even know what was wrong with me before he did.  
  
I miss this. I miss this so much, I can barely stand seeing him. I want his love, his friendship, his care, everything Xander's given me – while I'm throwing it all away.  
  
What the hell's my problem? Why can't anybody tell me?  
  
It's just that, sometimes, I wonder if it'd be easier if I could share my pain with someone else – but I know I'm being just selfish. Oh, spare me, I'm so goddamn weak...  
  
Why would I want to hurt anyone else with my own non-feelings? My gloom, my despair, my continuous inner battle?  
  
Is that why I don't deserve Heaven? Because I'm an utterly self-seeking person?  
  
I'm so sick of my own thoughts.  
  
And I need a break. From me.  
  
How the hell am I supposed to do that, anyway?  
  
Whatever.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
What do I do when my love is away  
  
Does it worry you to be alone  
  
How do I feel by the end of the day  
  
Are you sad because you're on your own  
  
No I get by with a little help from my friends  
  
Get high with a little help from my friends  
  
Gonna try with a little help from my friends  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I want to kill something; I want to relieve the pressure of my non-feelings on some nasty, bumpy demon. It's like perfect Slayer therapy, an addiction and its momentary relief, and it's actually pretty efficient.  
  
But it's morning now, and that freaking sun's shining down with its full vigor of strength.  
  
Damn daylight!  
  
And what's it got to make everything better? Xander's looking at me, and I just know I'll not be able to prevent myself holding it in anymore. He'll know I'm lying, and I'll screw everything up.  
  
I know that he knows.  
  
"I know that you know."  
  
Did I just voice that out loud? Ah, crap.  
  
"I know that you know that I know," he retorts promptly, never diverting his eyes from mine.  
  
Even though my gaze is futilely trying to hide from his, of course. Xander just doesn't give up, he needs to make me that vulnerable.  
  
And I totally hate it.  
  
"I know," my voice is so low that I wonder if he can actually hear me.  
  
Turns out that he can, and apparently perfectly well.  
  
"Why'd you do it, Buffy?" he demands, but I think he already knows the answer.  
  
You know what, Xander's a total jerk. It's just a question to make me suffer more, I know it is.  
  
"I don't know," I rapidly divert my glance from his.  
  
"That's a lie," Xander sharply reply. "Another one."  
  
Yeah, well, you don't have to tell me! Like that's the smartest crack I've ever heard in my entire life! Both of them!  
  
I keep silent, though.  
  
Oh, I'm such a coward.  
  
"Buffy, listen, you don't have to do it."  
  
I know he's worried, but I think he's feeling guiltier than that.  
  
He should be, 'cause I can't feel guilty anymore. Nor anything else.  
  
And I know I don't blame him; but, what the hell, I need to blame someone now.  
  
I need to. Or I'll crash and burn. And there's no demons to off at this particular moment of the day.  
  
I wonder if Mr. Punching Bag's open for an afternoon little visit?  
  
It's okay, Buffy. Just act. You're good at that. Just don't crash.  
  
"What am I supposed to do then, Xander? Can you honestly tell me? 'Cause I'm getting tired of all this, I really am! You... you don't know what it's like. No one knows. It's... it's the worst thing someone could imagine, and I'm dying, Xander, but my body's not. I wanna blame you, but I can't. And I'm so lost; I don't know what to do anymore. So then, does Jimmy Olsen have a hint? Anything you'd like to share? Yeah, I didn't think so..."  
  
Shit, I'm the worst actress ever.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Do you need anybody  
  
I need somebody to love  
  
Could it be anybody  
  
I want somebody to love  
  
~~~~~~  
  
"Buffy..."  
  
Xander's voice is pure misery, and I'm now acknowledging the fact that my sudden breakdown was probably a rough thing to handle.  
  
Well, big surprise. What did he expect, anyway? Flowers strewn along the ground, a sudden cloud over my head for dramatic effect – and then blissful tears of joy, for him opening my eyes to how *wrong* I am?  
  
Nope, sorry Buffy. Nothing's ever smooth for you. It's like Destiny's decided that you get the ugly pasta for breakfast, lunch and dinner, 24/7.  
  
And it's a terrible paradox.  
  
Gross.  
  
I really need a break. Really.  
  
But, hey, congratulations Buffy!  
  
Now you've apparently succeeded into drawing Xander into your own little hellish world. May I say, yay?  
  
Guess I'm a selfish bitch, that's what I am.  
  
And I can't stand seeing Xander like that.  
  
He's not crying, through. He's not sobbing, weeping, or doing any of the melodramatic things with passenger guilt and future promises of restitution.  
  
He just keeps staring at me. What, is there something stuck in my teeth?  
  
Do I have 'loser' written on my forehead?  
  
Have I got toilet paper stuck on my shoe?  
  
Something in my hair, maybe?  
  
And why, just why do I feel so naked in front of those bottomless eyes of his?  
  
I wanna comfort him; I don't wanna see Xander hurting – not when I know I've caused his pain.  
  
Nonetheless, wasn't that my lie's primary aim? If I were someone out of reach for salvation, I'd at least make everything easier for them, right?  
  
Am I a bitch?  
  
Who am I, after all?  
  
Why can't I hear an answer?  
  
I catch Xander's hands on mine in an unforeseen soft squeeze, and I suddenly know I'm more warm and protected.  
  
I know, I know, it was supposed to be the exact opposite – my primary intention was to protect him.  
  
From me.  
  
And my own little hellish abyss.  
  
I know I've screwed up again, but I honestly don't care. 'Cause the cold winter's passing away, and everything seems more colorful now.  
  
"How did you know it?" I ask, in a meek demand. Or whatever the hell that's supposed to mean, anyway.  
  
My voice is practically a distant whisper, and once again I wonder how he's even able to actually hear me.  
  
Xander grins at me. And now, it's an original and true Xander-smirk.  
  
I like it. And I grin back at him.  
  
It's been a long time since I've done it for real, and it doesn't feel odd, or wrong.  
  
"It's pretty lame, actually," Xander retorts. I think he's blushing.  
  
"I'm the Queen of the Damned, remember? Anything lame's gonna feel right at home. C'mon, spill." Was that really a joke on my part?  
  
OK, a bad one, not even a funny one.  
  
But I'm joking. And not faking it either.  
  
Wow, that's certainly news.  
  
It's even comical, strange at least: barely minutes ago, I'd been caught in the middle of Buffy's little drama world and sunk into a bottomless pool of sorrow and woe.  
  
But my whole attention's now uniquely focused onto Xander's words.  
  
He sighs. "OK, OK, I'll tell you. But it's lame, I'm warning ya."  
  
And I wait. Maybe I can't feel anything, but I'm definitely feeling better.  
  
Or whatever that's supposed to mean. Anyway...  
  
"It was in our sophomore year, probably a few weeks after we first started to hang out together – uh, yeah, sometime around then."  
  
I frown. I don't have the slightest clue of what he's talking about. He grins at that.  
  
"I wanted the last slice of pizza, same as you," he pauses, looking away and then at me. His warm brown eyes seem to be smiling at me, almost as if they were embarrassed, in amused shame.  
  
He passes a hand through his dark hair, and let it fall down through the air. I grin, puzzled. And I demand, "What? I ate it first as fast as I could, or something?"  
  
"Worse," he answers, looking straight at me, dramatically.  
  
I punch him lightly, "No way, you're making this up!"  
  
"Well, Ms. Summers, I hate to remind you of this shameful part of your past, but you actually hid it under the table and waited till I was out of sight, and then devoured it. That's it. No compassion, no mercy, you just stuck it down your throat and poof... that was the end of a poor, innocent slice of pizza."  
  
I can't help but raise a defensive eyebrow. "I did not."  
  
He smirks nimbly, "Uh, I'm pretty sure that a trace of tomato sauce on the left corner of your mouth kinda disagreed with you, back then."  
  
Damn. Now I'm blushing.  
  
I open my mouth to retort – say something, anything – but the damned words can't seem to come out of my mouth.  
  
And then, there I am.  
  
A Slayer with the urges, the capacity of feeling once again; and who was now blushing while she remembered a distant, happy past, when the simple fact of the red line of a vegetable's sauce was capable of immediately lifting her spirits up.  
  
A past where her greatest pain was to feel, as much as she did, each brand- new moment that life offered from its obscure and unpredictable days.  
  
Every smile, every pain, every passion.  
  
When a drop of rain, a simple street cat's meow or a scream of excitement, surprise, fear, joy – a warm, faraway place where things were genuinely felt, and sensed with such powerful strength that I didn't think I'd ever be able to hold it all together.  
  
Yeah, that was me, and what I used to think I hated. And that's what I want back.  
  
Life certainly travels through bizarre, odd channels.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Would you believe in a love at first sight  
  
Yes I'm certain that it happens all the time  
  
What do you see when you turn out the light  
  
I can't tell you but I know it's mine  
  
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends  
  
Get high with a little help from my friends  
  
I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends  
  
~~~~~~  
  
We keep on walking for several seconds in utter silence, and then I finally turn towards Xander's face.  
  
I raise an incredulous eyebrow. That's inevitable. "Tomato sauce's the reason why you discover I'm lying?"  
  
"Yeah – I mean, no," he began, obviously caught off-guard.  
  
I don't let my raised eyebrow drop, and I nod slowly as if I was waiting for him to be coherent – which is what I'm pretty much doing, actually.  
  
"Yes and no," Xander says more calmly, then looks at me accusingly. I just stare back, with that faked innocence and a childish gaze.  
  
"What I meant was, since that exact moment – I've always known whenever it is you're lying."  
  
I open my mouth to reply with a confused 'what', but Xander never gives me that chance to do so.  
  
"You always pass your left hand through your hair on the right-hand side, and then you look back firmly at the person straight in the eyes for a few seconds, until they're supposedly convinced."  
  
I look blankly at him, and then I attempt to whisper an immediate protest – but once again, my voice seems to completely and magically disappear, leaving my mouth wide open and that stupid expression on my face.  
  
Well, that's. Just. Great.  
  
Xander just grins at me, with certain cleverness. "I know what you're thinking. You want me to prove it, because you're not gonna surrender that easily."  
  
"No, I don't!" I retort rapidly, but his grin seems to have got bigger – like, a thousand times larger than a moment before.  
  
What I didn't notice was, my left hand passed through a lock of hair from the right-hand side of my head, and for a brief instant, I looked straight at him, convincingly. Or so I thought.  
  
How the hell did he know all that?  
  
"How the hell did you know all that?"  
  
"Ah, Slayer, a magician never reveals his tricks," he chuckles, amused, but then he looks with a serious gaze at me. I even think I'm freezing, stopping dead in my tracks.  
  
Damn effective.  
  
"It's what I call friendship, Buffster."  
  
The streets of Sunnydale are our endless stage, and we walk along them for incessant hours. I slip my arm onto his shoulders, letting my body hang onto his.  
  
And we walk.  
  
And walk.  
  
And walk.  
  
Arms linked, with a certain sensation of rightness. We're friends. Yeah, friends. We loved each other as friends. We'll fight for each other as friends. Always. Forever.  
  
Until the end of time.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Do you need anybody  
  
I just need somebody to love  
  
Could it be anybody  
  
I want somebody to love  
  
Oh I get by with a little help from my friends  
  
Gonna try with a little help from my friends  
  
I get high with a little help from my friends  
  
Yes I get by with a little help from my friends  
  
With a little help from my friends  
  
~~~~~~  
  
But he knows, I'm sure. We both know I came back wrong.  
  
And that maybe even the strongest friendship won't be able to fix me. Probably won't.  
  
I'm doomed.  
  
I'm haunted.  
  
I'm damned.  
  
I'm wrong.  
  
I'm living death.  
  
Finally I fall down to the pavement, shouting wildly. People are getting scared, crossing the street to avoid the crazy little blonde who's tired of not feeling.  
  
Why can't I just be part of the world?  
  
Why do I have to feel so goddamn empty?  
  
Why can't I love?  
  
Why can't I care?  
  
I yell at Xander furiously; everything I've been keeping inside so strongly for so long, finally exploding out into one big blast of anguish, revulsion and tormented agony.  
  
I want to feel warm. I need to. I've got to.  
  
But I won't. Never again. And I know it.  
  
Messy hair and blank eyes diverted from the world, and suddenly I'm concentrating only on the deep gray coloration of Sunnydale's asphalt. People are staring, looking, pointing but I don't care. And this time, I really don't.  
  
I don't see Xander's eyes at any moment – I know I'd not be able to stand that. I scream out insults, accusations, to hide my fears.  
  
I've finally crashed.  
  
But I don't cry, though. Not even once.  
  
***  
  
Hey, again! Please, review. Pretty please?  
  
Well, now it's missing only one chapter. And, if someone here reads my other fic, Loose Ends, too - I'll probably update it today, or tomorrow.  
  
Ah, and a special thanks to: little miss muffet, Ryo Angel and little_me - Starway man too, of course. 


	3. Killed By Life

Title: A Faithless Rhapsody  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like a genius? Perhaps (Cough! Cough! Ahem) but not a god, eh? Of course Buffy's characters aren't mine, but Joss'. Though I'm still inclined to believe that the man made a diabolical pact and sold his soul to the Devil, to get them first. Damn!  
  
Classification: A Buffyverse four chapter fanfic, from Buffy's POV.  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Feedback: If I could, I'd marry all that give it. As Spike would say, 'nuff said.  
  
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br  
  
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.  
  
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone who made this what it is today. And, of course, a big special thanks to Theo – with the English grammar and all the required adaptations. Once again, he's saving my butt in this project.  
  
Author's Note: It's a different kind of fiction, with a different proposition, I guess. Deals with Buffy-Xander friendship and, as a good old Beatlemaniac, there'll be three of their songs following each of the three chapters. Buffy's POV. Well, be nice with me. Uh, pleeease? Remember, even when Theo was a big help helping me with the English, he couldn't change the whole fic, and English isn't my native language.  
  
Summary: Buffy's silent cries to feel are getting her deeper and deeper into a powerful web of lies and isolation, from which she may not be able to get out later. Who will catch her when she falls?  
  
***  
  
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping  
  
While my guitar gently weeps  
  
I look at the floor and I see it needs sweeping  
  
Still my guitar gently weeps  
  
I don't know why nobody told you how to unfold your love  
  
I don't know how someone controlled you  
  
They bought and sold you  
  
~~~~~~  
  
What concept would define you as one of the good guys, or the bad?  
  
Which facts can judge and characterize you? How many tears, how many laughs, how many broken hearts and forgotten fights, how many dreams is a person made of?  
  
What's the limit to determine an answer?  
  
What's the thin red line you have to cross to determine the boundaries of death?  
  
To outline your own death?  
  
How long can your corpse keep existing in torturous oblivion, until it realizes your soul's evident upcoming collapse and it finally gives up?  
  
A day? A month? A year?  
  
Forever?  
  
What words, actions, thoughts, feelings would feel right – what is required to be considered a legitimate, authentic person?  
  
Then again, what are the lines you cross and the barriers you break in order to become a monster?  
  
Who is Buffy?  
  
What is Buffy?  
  
What am I?  
  
I see Xander sit down on the pavement, next to me. He doesn't speak a single word, though. And he doesn't try to touch me either.  
  
He knows what I'm thinking about – he's always known, actually. He just finally gave up lying to himself any longer. He discovered the truth, and he despises it.  
  
He despises his creation, their creation, and I know what he's doing – I know the guilt that's overwhelming his soul, heart and body with its agonizing strength, its suffocating truth and painful remembrance.  
  
He wants to fix it. He wants to care about me.  
  
But Xander knows. He knows he can't. He knows the girl he loved died.  
  
Buffy Anne Summers is dead, buried or not, but I'm still here.  
  
A faker. A sinner. A void, a chasm, an abyss, a lonely blank – the blankest, remember?  
  
A sham.  
  
I'm Buffy and I don't believe in God's goodness anymore.  
  
And today, today's the first day of the rest of my life.  
  
As of today I'm heading directly to Hell, on a one-way ticket trip to the land of blank nothingness.  
  
And I don't need to look to find its burning gateways made of flames and painful screams, oh no. I'm already here.  
  
What I just needed to understand is, that I'll always be.  
  
A place where I loved and was loved in return, a place where I found the greatest joys, saddest blues and most precious gifts.  
  
A little, formerly warm place I call the Inferno now.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I look at the world and I notice it's turning  
  
While my guitar gently weeps  
  
With every mistake we must surely be learning  
  
Still my guitar gently weeps  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Once the First Slayer told me death was my gift – and even though I thought I'd gotten the message before, I was just being silly and childish – I can only fully understand it now.  
  
A Slayer's made of grief and pain, and that's what makes her go on and fight the unstoppable fight. But when this painful, dangerous and exciting road ultimately comes to an end, what exactly is left for her?  
  
Why didn't the pain stop? For that matter, why did I have to partake of the bittersweet taste of pure death, as well as the wonderful bliss of Heaven?  
  
Why did God make me know how it felt to be complete and whole, and done, if He was going to make me lose it all in one single, painfully short second?  
  
The time it takes for the blink of an eye, a confession of love, a kiss, a tear, a desperate cry or turbulent and sincere shout.  
  
Why didn't God like Buffy Summers?  
  
Why doesn't God like me?  
  
What was it that I screwed up so bad, that Heaven suddenly felt as if I shouldn't belong there anymore – here, and now, and throughout eternity?  
  
But who will catch Buffy when she falls?  
  
I blink. And again and again.  
  
One, two, three times.  
  
I open my eyes. My tearless eyes. My emotionless eyes.  
  
My dead eyes.  
  
The windows to my soul.  
  
"Xander?" my voice's small, I know. Like a fragile, weak sob.  
  
But he doesn't look back at me. His soft brown eyes, the gentle, strong eyes that were my unspoken rock for so many years, don't have any tears too.  
  
Xander hates me, that's it. He can't even stand to be near me right now. He knows what I'm thinking – that's a settled, sure fact now.  
  
Buffy Anne Summers, beloved sister, devoted friend – she saved the world a lot.  
  
She's dead – he, he just has to deal with it. Sooner or later. They needed their Buffy, they needed her so much, but I just failed them again.  
  
I'm no hero any longer. I failed them, just like I failed Mom. Who am I kidding, anyway? I'm not taking care of Dawn, as I promised her – what kind of monster does that make me?  
  
I love Dawn – I, I really do. I just can't... I just can't do it anymore. This. I can't...  
  
I know that what I'm gonna say may sound like the biggest cliché, but I don't really care anyway. Have you ever felt as if you didn't belong in the world anymore?  
  
They need me, right? They need their Slayer, but what's the point?  
  
This war's an endless one, and I'm not just talking about nasty demons and vampires.  
  
Us. We destroy it – we destroy our world, and ourselves, every day. I can't seem to decide if what's at stake is still worth it anymore.  
  
Cold amorality, incessant wars, bloodthirsty guns, blind revenges, deliberate blindness from all sides, blood-freezing rage – that's who we are now, and that's what we'll ever be.  
  
So, I ask you again – what's the point? Ain't I just another killer?  
  
Ain't I the Slayer, after all?  
  
Huh, was that how Faith felt? Incapable of love? Incapable of feeling loved?  
  
Powerless to look at herself in the mirror?  
  
'Cause that's our power too – destruction, suffering, pain. For who am I fighting? For what?  
  
For my friends, and the world their children will inherit? For my family? Oh, they'll die eventually, you know. Maybe it's for the best – I remember Heaven. Maybe I'm just saving them from the worst.  
  
And maybe I'll be able to believe that some day.  
  
Maybe I'll be able to disbelieve that too, 'cause I honestly can't find a unique, non-contradictory rebuttal.  
  
But I, no matter what I'll do or choose to do, will still be here – oh yeah, I'm pretty sure of that. For many long, lonely years...  
  
Watching. Witnessing. Waiting.  
  
Living death.  
  
Living Hell.  
  
Living my life.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I don't know how you were diverted  
  
You were perverted too  
  
I don't know how you were inverted  
  
No one alerted you  
  
~~~~~~  
  
How can I escape from my fear when I'm not feeling him?  
  
How can I be happy when I don't know how that feels anymore?  
  
And if I can't remember how to feel sad for forgetting happiness?  
  
How can I be fully alive when all the strength I've got left hangs on the simple, though unreachable wish of dying again?  
  
Didn't I deserve it? Or was it the easy road?  
  
Have I the right to hate my friends? They made me this; they brought me back – so why can't I hate them, then?  
  
Is it because I can't feel at all anymore, or because I felt so much love for them before?  
  
I wanna hate you, Xander, despise you completely. You took me away from the only escape of distress, anguish and dead ends that the world was mercilessly heaping upon my shoulders; you took away the capacity of loving you.  
  
And that's the greatest hole I'll have to live with, when you all die and finally let me alone.  
  
'Cause I understand I'll have to live everlastingly knowing that, while they needed to believe I was a hero, their hero, I came back and failed them. In more ways than they'll ever really realize I did.  
  
I'm self-seeking. I'm valueless. I'm unworthy.  
  
Shit, I couldn't even fool Xander, because I didn't wanna be strong enough! I wanted his warmth, his will to live and his love for life. I think I wanted to feel alive again, but I can't. Not anymore, and I know it.  
  
My heart's dead, but I'm not. I know. I'm wrong. I came back wrong.  
  
My voice yells out, but my soul cries silently. The urges exist to feel, to touch, to love and be loved. And, at the same time, painfully learn the truth.  
  
I'm Buffy.  
  
And I'm killing myself. Slowly, torturously, deeply. Nothing I'll do will change it, anyhow. Never.  
  
I'm an animal; I'm moved by instinct. The most primal there is.  
  
I kill, I destroy, I create and I suffer.  
  
I'm the Slayer.  
  
I don't pray, I hunt. I don't cry, I shout. I don't care, I die.  
  
Every morning, every afternoon, every night. Until the end of time.  
  
And it'll never stop. I know it. It'll just never cease.  
  
Can't he see it? Why doesn't he just ask me if I'm OK? If I'm sad? If I want to talk with him? We'd just save time and complete that old routine I'm becoming so used to fulfilling.  
  
But... please, Xander, please don't give up on me yet.  
  
Please, not you Xander. I gave up and, what the hell, I bet even God's already given up. You're my only hope – the tiny, sparkling bit of hope I don't believe in, the hope I don't wanna believe anymore.  
  
I'm Buffy. I'm a monster, a selfish bitch, God's bastard creation, a murderer – I'm Buffy, the Slayer. And yes, I'm Buffy, the walking contradiction, too.  
  
So, sue me. Bite me. Just fuck off, OK?  
  
Please, Xander.  
  
I've already got weight enough to carry on my shoulders.  
  
Please, Xander.  
  
I don't need anyone telling me how screwed up I am.  
  
Please, Xander.  
  
I don't need another person who can't stand the nauseating, repulsive reflection of phantom shadows and repugnant egotism I've become.  
  
I dragged you into this with me, but please, Xander. I need you.  
  
More than ever. Please, look at me. Please, tell me I'm not wrong. Please, lie to me.  
  
Just don't let me be alone anymore.  
  
Be stupid. Try to save a dead soul.  
  
Please, Xander, save me.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
I look at you all see the love there that's sleeping  
  
While my guitar gently weeps  
  
I look at you all  
  
Still my guitar gently weeps  
  
~~~~~~  
  
"I'm sorry," I say humbly. I glance at Xander, but I quickly divert my eyes – I don't know if I'm audacious enough to do that anymore.  
  
The world stopped spinning at that exact second, now that I look back on it.  
  
He's doing it. He's being stupid. He's trying to save Buffy.  
  
Xander's trying to save a dead soul.  
  
Always the foolish, silly boy.  
  
Tsk, tsk.  
  
Don't do it, Xander. Learn. I know I'll beg you, but I've become a haunted ghost trapped in a breathing, living corpse. Something like being on automatic pilot, you know?  
  
It tells me to eat, I eat. It tells me to slay, I slay. It tells me to pee, I pee. But it can't tell me how to feel, though.  
  
Don't make a fool of yourself – don't worry, I'll do that enough for the both of us.  
  
"Stop it, Buffy," Xander says hauntingly, in the same low tone of voice.  
  
"Stop what?" I reply bitterly, not really knowing what to do anymore.  
  
Where to look, what to say; nothing besides being ashamed of myself – as if it was the only thing I'm capable of feeling. Shame, embarrassment, affliction – I really can't entirely understand it right now.  
  
"It's not your fault," he retorts, still not looking at me.  
  
I stay in silence.  
  
"But you don't believe it," Xander softly states, his warm gaze hitting my cold one for the first time in several minutes.  
  
"I... I can't believe in a lie," I whisper, shocking my head.  
  
He sighs. "Look, I always knew somebody would hafta say it one day..."  
  
A frown. I don't need to ask why, though. A sour, nervous laugh fills the silence with its bittersweet presence – making the little, almost ridiculous company of the original Buffy Anne Summers I've been left with shiver strongly.  
  
Oh God. I made him feel like this. I failed him again.  
  
"Buff, please just hear me out, OK?"  
  
I nod. What the hell am I supposed to do, anyway? I'm frozen.  
  
"Thing is, I knew. Since the very beginning, ever since you first looked at me when you... when we brought you back, I knew."  
  
His voice's misery hit me a thousand times stronger than the hardest punch I've ever received in my life. My eyes wander to his, and I can only see a distant, shadowy haze – so alien from his usually kind and brave warmth.  
  
"We've screwed up, Buffy. Yeah, big time. And I'm not talking about leaving you in that coffin, I know that was the smallest screwup we committed that night."  
  
He deflects his eyes again. For some odd reason, I think he's feeling ashamed of himself, not me anymore.  
  
"We killed you, and in the worst way someone could do it. We're supposed to be your friends, but we couldn't go on in a world without you, 'cause we're just that selfish. We took you away from where you deserved to be, and we brought you to Hell instead."  
  
No. No, stop it Xander. I made you feel like this. Stop it. It's my fault. It's my fucking fault!  
  
I was supposed to be the hero. I failed you.  
  
It's Buffy's fault. Solely hers.  
  
"I, I just didn't have the strength to recognize it at the time, I just... I couldn't, I chose to like drown myself in denial simply 'cause it meant the easy way out. Or so I thought."  
  
Oh shit, he isn't Xander! The Xander I know, he's full of life and energy... I, this, this is a damn imposter! A faker!  
  
The same way I am? Let it be, Buffy. Don't go there.  
  
"It wasn't Willow's fault, or Tara's and Anya's... they just couldn't see... but I, I knew the whole time. I just never really realized till the last moment we could actually do it, you know? I think I underestimated Will's power, and I'm scared, Buffy."  
  
His eyes are full of tears, he doesn't cry them through. "I'm scared like I've never been scared before in my life, 'cause Wills isn't the sweet, shy little girl anymore that I used to steal Barbies from when we were five. Or, or who I could talk and listen to for endless hours knowing that she'd always be there for me, just like I would for her."  
  
Oh shit, what is he...?  
  
"I don't think I can help her anymore, but one thing I can tell ya for sure: she's so lost and blind that she really thought she was helping you. And I didn't stop her, even when there was this part of me – the part I chose to ignore – that knew we weren't, at all."  
  
Xander sends me this sad smile. "I can't really explain it, but deep inside me, it was like you didn't need to tell me you were in Heaven. Even before we..." he trails off, both of us knowing he doesn't need to say anything to make it clear what he meant.  
  
The day I came to Hell.  
  
***  
  
Okay, so I said it'd be a three-chapter thing. Well, it isn't anymore - there's still one, and I'll send it today or tomorrow.  
  
Please, review me! 


	4. Me And My Shadows

Title: A Faithless Rhapsody  
  
Author: Jane McCartney  
  
Disclaimer: Do I look like a genius? Perhaps (Cough! Cough! Ahem) but not a god, eh? Of course Buffy's characters aren't mine, but Joss'. Though I'm still inclined to believe that the man made a diabolical pact and sold his soul to the Devil, to get them first. Damn!  
  
Classification: A Buffyverse four chapter fanfic, from Buffy's POV.  
  
Rating: PG13  
  
Feedback: If I could, I'd marry all that give it. As Spike would say, 'nuff said.  
  
E-mail: janemccartney@bol.com.br  
  
Distribution: Anywhere, I don't mind, just credit me and inform me where it's at.  
  
Acknowledgements: Thanks to everyone who made this what it is today. And, of course, a big special thanks to Theo – with the English grammar and all the required adaptations. Once again, he's saving my butt in this project.  
  
Author's Note: It's a different kind of fiction, with a different proposition, I guess. Deals with Buffy-Xander friendship and, as a good old Beatlemaniac, there'll be three of their songs following each of the three chapters. Buffy's POV. Well, be nice with me. Uh, pleeease? Remember, even when Theo was a big help helping me with the English, he couldn't change the whole fic, and English isn't my native language.  
  
Summary: Buffy's silent cries to feel are getting her deeper and deeper into a powerful web of lies and isolation, from which she may not be able to get out later. Who will catch her when she falls?  
  
***  
  
Help! I need somebody  
  
Help! Not just anybody  
  
Help! You know I need someone  
  
Help!  
  
When I was younger, so much younger than today  
  
I never needed anybody's help in any way  
  
And now these days are gone  
  
And I'm not so self assured  
  
Now I find I've changed my mind  
  
I've opened up the doors  
  
~~~~~~  
  
"There was this little game I used to play, where I'd picture you laughing, you were so beautiful Buff... you were so calm and serene, like I hadn't ever seen you before. You told me you were all right, that we didn't need to worry 'cause we were gonna be together again one day, and that you'd be waiting for us. You were smiling," Xander tells me.  
  
Apparently, the gray color of the street pavement seems to fascinate him, 'cause his eyes still avoid any kind of contact with mine.  
  
And, once again, for the second time that day, I know it isn't because he's ashamed of me, but himself.  
  
"That was before The Night. That's how I call it now, ya know? The Night. I mean it, I've made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life, and you can believe me when I say a lot of them were doozies. But this one, this one takes the cake any way you wanna look at it."  
  
"Xander," I say, surprising even myself. His eyes widen at the mention of his name, easily showing he wasn't expecting this at all.  
  
"I can't tell you I never blamed you, 'cause that'd be just another big, fat lie. And, honestly, I know I'll hate myself for saying this later, but I just don't feel like lying to you any longer."  
  
I arch my eyebrows, sending him something one could say was an attempt at a playful gaze. "Although, recent events say you'd discover it anyway."  
  
He chuckles. I chuckle too.  
  
Then we go silent again, rapidly forgetting all about this brief instant. Something that used to be so common in older, happier days.  
  
We remember how we've changed. And I swear, really, it's like the saddest cloud suddenly decides to completely cover us or something. Just like that, coming out of nowhere.  
  
"There's this part of me," I continue, not exactly knowing what the hell I'm gonna say next. "The part that I've been trying to deny so much – a part that wants to believe, but just isn't strong enough to do that."  
  
He looks at me questioningly.  
  
Little Miss Muffet, time to explain yourself.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Help me if you can I'm feeling down  
  
And I do appreciate you being 'round  
  
Help me get my feet back on the ground  
  
Won't you please please help me?  
  
~~~~~~  
  
"I want to believe, Xander, but I know I can't. I can't laugh anymore; I just don't understand what's so goddamn funny... and that, it confuses me so much. You were... are, everything to me. I should try, for you guys, but I'm simply not your... I ain't no hero."  
  
"Buffy..."  
  
"No. I'm sorry, but I can't be your Buffy anymore. I'm failing with you, failing your trust and your love, but still you're here, trying to reach me... believe me when I say I wish you could, but you can't."  
  
The bitterness in his eyes, it's like being stabbed over and over and over again.  
  
"Are you for real, Buffy? I mean really, are you? Can't you see it? You're here! For us! Have you ever once thought why you just didn't send us all to Hell, why you kept trying to hide from us, feeling..." he gulps, "ashamed, thinking you're disappointing us when *we're* the ones guilty in this court?"  
  
Now it's my eyes that take on a widened gaze and I can almost literally sense my mouth freezing, as he looks at me with a mixture of tartness and sad contemplation in his dark eyes.  
  
"You're more hero than any of us. We – I, I hurt you more than any weapon ever could, any punch or kick, any villain that showed up in Sunnyhell or any curve balls life threw at you. And, honestly, it sucks. It really, really sucks."  
  
I don't quite remember when his gentle arm takes my right hand, and smoothly places it on top of my heart. "You've got the most beautiful heart, soul and mind I've ever met. You prefer to believe this is your fault, even when you've got every right to never want to look at us in the face again..."  
  
A pause. "And you may think it's otherwise, maybe 'cause you just can't see it any other way, but you're wrong if you do. It's just 'cause you are who you are, Buff, a hero. A real-life hero."  
  
I... please, don't do it... I, I can't... I can't believe in what's just not true...  
  
I can't hope, Xander, it's just stupid, and it'll be in vain, just deal with it! Don't let me hope...  
  
"You aren't flawless, Buff. You're real, understand me? And that's exactly why you're a true hero, 'cause you're not perfect. You've learnt and lived, and you've coped with things that weren't exactly fair, but you made it through anyway... and your heart, you've got such a beautiful heart, I just..."  
  
"No," I reply in a harsh voice, but Xander doesn't look surprised at all. "I'm a monster, and it doesn't matter how I became... it! Shit, stop it! I can't hope anymore, don't you get it? I can't risk trying to feel again, 'cause it'll be just too painful in the end..."  
  
Breathe, Buffy.  
  
"I promised Mom and I failed her, so what does that makes me? A freaking hero? I really don't think so, and you gotta get this: I'm not your Buffy. And maybe, what the hell, maybe I never was!"  
  
Breathe, Buffy.  
  
"I don't wanna feel, but I wanna... I, I'm dangerous, I've got all this Slayer power and I just can't risk mistakes I know I'll make... it's safer, and it's painful, but I can't feel this pain, I just know it's suffocating me slowly, and I'm confused, and the only thing I'm capable of feeling is death! I even stink at it!"  
  
Breathe, Buffy.  
  
"And you saying all those things, it just messes with my head even more! I... just... can't... I can't remember how to feel and it makes me wanna die, but I won't... it's killing me, don't you get it? But I can't help it, even though I want to and I don't at the same time, and I don't even know what's the point of trying anymore! I mean it's meaningless anyway, isn't it?"  
  
Breathe, Buffy.  
  
"Please... just don't make me hope, OK? It's futile, it's childish, it's stupid; you're stupid and I am too, this whole freaking world's goddamn stupid! I'm. No. Hero. I screwed up with Dawn, with you guys, with Mom... I wanted, I wished, oh for God's sake, I wished I could hate you with all my strength, but..."  
  
"Are you sure, Buff?" Again, Xander's bitterness is clear and evident, and a spark of rage and excitement is growing arduously inside him. I can even savor it.  
  
"Why didn't you just end it all, then? Or, why didn't you just spit in our faces? Tell me, c'mon... I'm the one who tore you out of Heaven, remember? I knew it was the wrong thing to do, and I didn't stop Wills from puking out a snake. I was the weak, self-seeking little brat, who only wanted his Buffy back.... tell me, in all honesty, are you just OK with that?"  
  
Breathe, Buffy.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
And now my life has changed in oh so many ways  
  
My independence seems to vanish in the haze  
  
But every now and then I feel so insecure  
  
I know that I just need you like I've never done before  
  
~~~~~~  
  
"Stop talking," I beg him in a suddenly small and weak voice, but Xander doesn't seem intent on doing that at all.  
  
"We failed you, not the opposite! *I* failed you, when you had to sacrifice the whole freaking world for our butts, 'cause you believed in us, you believed in life... don't tell me you can't hate me, don't tell me I don't deserve it, don't make a fool of yourself, Buffy!"  
  
"Stop it..."  
  
"Stop it? I can't! I won't! If you wanna drown yourself in self-pity, I won't stop you, 'cause I simply don't have the right to dare say I understand how you feel. But don't do it, as bottom line is you aren't helping anyone like that. Yourself or the others. Sooner or later, their blindness will fade too, you know? And what's gonna happen then, huh?"  
  
"Xander, stop it..."  
  
"Listen to me, Buffy, just listen – I may have screwed up more than any friendship will ever be able to fix, but what I'm gonna say, just listen to it, OK? You mother was, is and always will be immensely proud of you."  
  
Stop it.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Help me if you can I'm feeling down  
  
And I do appreciate you being 'round  
  
Help me get my feet back on the ground  
  
Won't you please please help me?  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Before I can tell me how wrong he is, Xander continues, "It doesn't matter what you think, that's just the way it is. Joyce was a great person, from the bravest and most wonderful family I've ever had the pleasure and luck to meet, and she never stopped loving you, and never will. You're much more than a hero to her, Buff, you're her daughter; you and Dawn, you guys were everything to her..."  
  
"Xander..."  
  
"Look," his voice weakens and cracks at some words, but he keeps talking anyway. "You've got this force, and fire inside you... life's tempered you into something incredible, and it's what made you such a wonderful person. It's made you who you are, and that's a beautiful woman, Buffy. An authentic hero."  
  
Once again, Xander's voice wins back the passion he had from earlier. "Never believe the opposite, OK? I love you. I don't know if you're really sure of that anymore, but it's the truth. I'll always be here for you, but I'll understand if you don't want me around."  
  
His brown eyes shine. "Just give yourself a chance, Buffy. Run the risk, don't hide. Not because it's the coward's way out, but because it isn't you. That isn't Buffy Anne Summers, and I'm sure of one thing: she's alive, deep inside you, even though you believe she's dead."  
  
"She isn't?" I sarcastically reply.  
  
"No! Maybe I'm just being selfish and blind again; but I just feel it, I just know it! If you think that too, give her a shot. Give yourself a shot. Life's pain and you were hurt enough, but you can't just give up. Not 'cause you've got to be a hero, but 'cause you *are* one."  
  
A smile, a real Xander smile. "And above all, you're Buffy. You had the most amazing will to live, and that's what instantly made me fall in love with you, when I first saw you... uh, I may have also found you the most gorgeous girl in the whole world, but that was just hormones talking, anyway..."  
  
A hint of tiredness passes through his face, but he still catches my hand, and squeezes it softly. "If you really wanna make your mother proud, just be yourself. Don't try to lie or hide who you are now, 'cause she loved every little thing you did. She even loved you when you were cranky in the morning, or when you and Dawn fought over the breakfast cereal, remember?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"I mean it! Every little annoying thing and quirk about you. She was a Summers, and that's the strongest blood I know. Doesn't matter how much of a monster you think you may be, it won't even compare to the monster I became when I put you through this pain. Make her proud, Buffy, and believe it: you are no monster. You're too good a person for that."  
  
I gulp. I raise my hazel eyes to his.  
  
And that's the exact moment when the most astonishing thing happens.  
  
Dazedness, confusion, puzzlement – I can't really express in words what it felt like inside me right then. It was as if my whole body was turning upside down, and the world had stopped spinning for those timeless seconds.  
  
I'm angry. Really angry.  
  
And I'm confused, excited, and above all, I'm frightened.  
  
It's impossible... but I feel.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
When I was younger, much younger than today  
  
I never needed anybody's help in any way  
  
And now these days are gone  
  
I'm not so self assured  
  
Now I find I've changed my mind  
  
I've opened up the doors  
  
Help me if you can I'm feeling down  
  
And I do appreciate you being 'round  
  
Help me get my feet back on the ground  
  
Won't you please please help me?  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Xander's hard breath doesn't slow at any moment, and we're lost in our own little world for what feels like endless centuries.  
  
I finally really realize. I'm Buffy.  
  
I'm dead, and I'm alive at the same time.  
  
Hot, burning tears roll harshly down my face, but that doesn't seem to bother me at all. To be totally honest, I didn't really feel them at first.  
  
I'm crying.  
  
And I'm laughing, at the same time.  
  
People are probably thinking, 'Look at that wacko on the street!' but I don't give a damn about them.  
  
I'm feeling.  
  
I'm Buffy.  
  
I'm alive and I'm dead.  
  
And it feels good, dangerous, exciting, risky, painful – it feels real.  
  
Xander made me feel again.  
  
I don't wanna think what the future will be like, how I'm gonna work things out with him, or if I'm truly going to – I don't wanna think about any of that now.  
  
We lock eyes for a long, severe minute – eyes of dread, fire, uneasiness, passion; looks that devour each other, looks of hope, of expectancy, of desire and flame.  
  
For one fleeting moment, we're sure of only one thing. And that's that we'll always have this moment, for us and us alone.  
  
A moment that surpasses a thousand flaming kisses between two soulmates, the most ravishing rhapsody, or the unique and at the same time strong and fragile ties of a lifetime friendship.  
  
This moment is beyond any explainable logic; this magical moment where we understood and, most importantly, fully accepted each other. Our pains and fears, our most deeply hidden secrets, our veiled cravings and hot, salty tears of joys.  
  
It doesn't matter that Xander was destined to die in two months, at the hands of a lost and perpetually downhearted Willow.  
  
It doesn't matter that the son he'll have with the then three months- pregnant Anya won't ever know his honorable, brave and loving father.  
  
It doesn't matter that I eventually had to kill my best friend, after she lost every trace of the innocent, tender soul she had – delving into the robust, perilous ways of dark magick. After killing the one person we both loved the most, in an easily preventable and sadly predictable accident.  
  
And it doesn't matter that I felt as if I was looking straight into a mirror, when Willow's eyes stared painfully at mine with her very last, final breath.  
  
Right now, none of this matters – 'cause this is our moment, ours and ours only.  
  
The future's always an unknown road, and its diverse ways are the only way to move on and risk your heart. Maybe I'd make things different if I could, maybe I wouldn't.  
  
Maybe things will work out for the best. Or maybe for the worse, who knows?  
  
But my greatest relief will invariably be – even though there'll be times I won't truly be convinced of it – to have this certainty that I've felt during every tormenting step; and that, for each one of those horrible instants, I'll always have my share of wonderful moments to transcend them.  
  
Willow, Giles, Faith.  
  
Angel, Riley, Spike.  
  
Tara, Cordelia, Anya.  
  
Mom, Dawn and most especially – Xander. My brother, in all but blood.  
  
Thank you, Xander. You saved me in ways I can't even clearly understand yet.  
  
And that's why you'll always be my White Knight through this painful, hard rhapsody of constant discoveries and burning passions, sorrowful grievances and outstanding devotions. To love, and be loved in return – to sense, and to feel.  
  
I'm Buffy.  
  
I promise I won't ever let you down, Xander. And I'm not gonna let you down either, Mom.  
  
Ever.  
  
***  
  
[The End]  
  
Help: John Lennon and Paul McCartney - The Beatles  
  
Special thanks to: little miss muffet, Ryo Angel, little_me, Mims, Varthan, ZaurielAngelus, krisseth2000, Maggie, Kifflez, Nikapi, Lady Callie, Drake Roberts and, most specially, Stairway Man. 


End file.
